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A   CYCLE   OF   SONNETS 


A  Cycle  of  Sonnets 

By 
EDITH  WILLIS  LINN 


NEW  YORK 
JAMES  T.  WHITE   &  CO. 

1918 


COPYRIGHT    BY    JAMES    T.    WHITE    ft    CO, 
1917 


To 
A  LOVER  OF  POETRY 

WHO  HELD 
THE  SONNET  ABOVE  ALL  OTHER  FORMS  OF  VERSE 

SUMNER  ROBINSON 
A  BEAUTIFUL  MEMORY 


CONTENTS 

BESIDE    LAKE    SENECA .     .      .     n 

LOVE   SONNETS -39 

SAMSARA    SONNETS    .....  ....     89 

MISCELLANEOUS   SONNETS 

DESTINY .     .     .     .   101 

PRAYER        1O2 

THE    LETTER *°3 

FOREVER   AND    FOREVER   ...  i°4 

THE  CATHEDRAL i°5 

SLEEP *°6 

THE  POET , 107 

LOST  DREAMS        *°8 

THE  CLOUD ,     .  ...   109 

THE  PRESENT "Q 

IMPRISONED .     .     .  in 

THE   EMPTY  ROOM 112 

WITHHOLDING        "3 

THE  DOWNY  OWL     ., 114 

IN  THE  DUNDEE  CEMETERY       . 115 

THE    UNFAMILIAR 116 

OBLITERATION        117 


GOD'S    CHILD   ............  118 

IGNATONG'S  MUMMY  ..........  119 

NIGHT  IN  THE  CITY  ..........  120 

THE   GHOST  IN  THE  WORKSHOP   ......  121 

THERE  is  A  HAPPINESS  .........  122 


..............   I23 

DESERTED     .............   124 

THE  COLOR  GRAY     ..........   125 


BESIDE   LAKE    SENECA 


BESIDE  LAKE  SENECA 


THE  cadence  of  thy  waves  like  human  pain, 
Some  deep,  unconquered  pang  that  stabs  the  heart, 
Rises    and    falls.      When    somnolent   thou    art, 
Bird-music  soaring  over  thy  refrain, 
Summer's  effulgence,  or  the  windless  rain, 
Woo  to  forgetf ulness ;  as  poignant  smart 
Of  recollection  sinks  to  music's  part, 
And  steals  like  old,  sweet  songs,  across  the  brain. 
When  boisterous  winds  upon  the  fretted   shore 
Beat  the  deep  fugue  of  thy  tempestuous  wave, 
Above  all  thought,  all  action,  sounds  the  roar; 
So  haunting  memory,  however  brave 
The  heart,  from  calm  returneth  evermore 
To  sob  its  measure,  sadder  than  the  grave. 


11 


II. 


EACH  shining  constellation  overhead 
Is  clearly  mirrored   in   translucent  deeps. 
Storm-mists,  the  rain,  and  restless  wind  that  sweeps 
To  noisy  waves  are  all  upgathered. 
Beyond  the  stars,  by  love  and  longing  led, 
My  soul  is  seeking  what  the  silence  keeps. 
Dear  one,  who   neither  tarries  here  nor  sleeps 
In  low  green  tent,  I  know  you  are  not  dead. 
Unwimpled   lake   encompassing  the   sky, 
I  would  be  calm  that  heaven   reflected   be 
Within   my  heart   as  star   for   star  is  given. 
O  silent  lake,  I  put  my  moaning  by, 
My  rain  of  tears;  teach  me  to  know  with  thee 
That  perfect  peace  that  in  itself  is  heaven! 


12 


III. 


UPON  the  sand  the  lisping  ripples  run 
Like  tripping  children  prattling  at  their  play. 
Tranquil  thy  breast,  all  motionless  and  gray 
Beneath  a  fumid  sky,  till  the  low  sun 
Flashes  the  message  that  its  work  is  done. 
Then  flames  thy  face  with  memories  of  day 
That  comes  no  more,  whose  happy,  futile  way 
Beside  thy  water  is  so  soon  outrun. 
Ah,  day  with  love  and  labor  in  thy  hand ! 
Well-rounded  day  that  seemed  so  full,  so  fair! 
Chimeric  opalescence,   faint  and   far, 
Receding  like  these  ripples  on  the  sand ; 
Darkness   engulfs  thee ;   labor,   longing,  care, 
Sink  to  oblivion;  overhead  a  star. 


13 


IV. 


LEAPING  and  bounding  into  clouds  of  spray 
On  paleolithic  cliffs,  thou  hast  no  power 
To   move   the   sighing,   singing  pines   that  tower 
Against  the  blue,  nor  bid  the  woodthrush  stay 
His  song.      Beating  the  crags  in  boisterous  play, 
Canst  thou  imperil  drooping  fern  or  flower? 
The  law  that  marks  each  star's  allotted  hour 
Limits  thy  might  and  holds  thee  in  its  sway. 
I  chafe   beneath  the  narrowness  called   fate. 
Like  thee  my  turbulence  makes  fretful  moan ; 
Grim  grief  encloses  with  its  walls  of  gray. 
I  mount  toward  flower  and  song;   the  desolate 
Reaches  of  shale  are  mine.      Like  thee  I  own 
The  power  that  limits  my  appointed  way. 


14 


V. 


FAREWELL,  beloved,  wheresoe'er  I  stray 
Abides  thy  memory.     Forever  near 
Thy  murmurous  melody.      In  dreams  I  hear 
Thy  tempest's  fury  and  the  waves  at  play. 
Often   upon  the   city's   populous  way 
The  rush  and  roar  of  traffic  to  my  ear 
Speaks   in  thy  voice.      In   babbling  crowds  the   cheer 
Of  wind-swept  waves  laughs  into  bounding  spray. 
Kind    recollections,   myriad    phantoms,    show 
Life's   ancient,   vanished   but   immortal    hour 
Secure  beyond  effacement  of  our  tears; 
These  haunt  me.      Often,   Seneca,  I  know 
Youth  and  its  passionate  dream,  its  faith,  its  power, 
Borne  by  thy  music  backward  through  the  years. 


15 


VI. 


THE  sun  goes  down  in  waves  of  crimson  fire 
Behind  the  city  chimneys  that  arise 
Grim,   fumid    specters   in   the   western    skies, 
Whose    breath,    incarnadined,    mounts   ever   higher. 
My  lake!   my  hills!   land  of  my  hearts  desire, 
Diaphanous    opalesence    shining    lies 
Upon   thee  as  yon   splendid   sunset  dies 
In   beauty  that  might  prophet  soul   inspire. 
Thou  art  like  love,  O  country  of  my  dreams! 
Drawing  the   lovers'   thought  through   time   and   space. 
The  city  here;  there  the  still  glen,  the  pine; 
The  mellow  music  of  the  limpid  stream; 
While  with  the  beauty  of  a   long  lost  face 
Outspreads  the  lake  mid   rimming  hills  a-shine. 


16 


VII. 


WAKEFUL,  O  restless  lake,  I  lie  by  thee, 
Sobbing  and  sighing  on  the  southern  shore, 
Through  the  autumnal  darkness  evermore 
Calling  of  love — love  lost  eternally — 
That  seemed  to  die  yet  will  not  silent  be. 
At  setting  sun,  when  shadow-urns  out-pour 
The  stars  upon  the  sky,  and  o'er  and  o'er 
The  mournful  crickets  chirp  persistently, 
A   haunting   presence    enters   softly   in, 
And  tender-eyed   and   speechless,   pleads   and   grieves. 
My  little  restless  love,  I  thought  thee  dead ! 
Why  come,  sweet  wanderer,  footsore,  wan   and  thin 
From  long  neglect?      Amid  the  fallen   leaves 
Why  call  to  me  of  summer  that  is  sped? 


17 


VIII. 

HOW  calm  thou  art,  while  in  thy  bosom  dwell 
Sad  secrets  of  disaster,  death  and  doom; 
Blanched   bones  and   sunken  ships  stark  in  the  gloom 
Of    viscous    caverns.      Every   crested    swell 
Murmurs  of  Indian   tribes  that  loved  thee  well. 
From  thy  translucent  depths   resounds  the   boom 
Of   that   intrepid    chief   who   dared    presume 
God's  works,  to  find  on  thee  his  floating  hell.* 
Here  on  this  gray  slate  stone  a  name  I  trace 
And  cast  it  forth  into  thy  tranquil  heart, 
Thy  perfect  power  of  secrecy  to  prove. 
Remorseless  waves  will  soon  the  scroll  efface, 
As  death  and  change  forever  set  apart; 
Yet  hold  it  fast — the  name  of  one  I  love. 


*The   legend   of  Seneca  Lake. 
18 


IX. 


QUITE  motionless,  the  waveless  waters  lay, 
Wooing  the  sky  to  their  placidity; 
Rock,   tree    and    flower,   repeated   sinuously, 
Doubled  the  beauty  of  each  cove   and  bay. 
Stealing  through  the  lethargic,   purple-gray 
Of  twilight  came  the  friendly  stars  to  see 
Their  images  in  that  tranquility — 
So  dark  and  deep  by  night,  so  bright  by  day. 
Love  figures  such  a  scene,  reflected  lies 
Another's  being  on  the   sentient  heart; 
Dim,  beatific  visions  swim  in  view ; 
Heaven  seems  about  us  like  bemirrored  skies; 
From  unknown  depths   resplendent  worlds  upstart; 
And  when  love  prays,  it  is  the  prayer  of  two. 


19 


THE  violet  light  of  dying  day  is  thrown 
Upon  the  eastern  slopes  that  glow  and  gleam 
Unreal,  ethereal,  like  the  banks  of  dream. 
Against  the  lateral  of  lichened   stone 
Reflecting  waters   beat  an   undertone 
To  the  soft  purling  of  the  distant  stream, 
And   sentinal   pines   whose   branches  ever   seem 
To  sigh,  "I  am  alone,  I   am  alone." 
My  friend,  with  whom  I  walked  here,  hand  in  hand, 
Who  knew  my  faltering  step,  my  leading  star, 
Who  lived  my  heart-break,  grasped  my  ecstasy, 
The  hills  of  dream  fade  to  the  common  land. 
I  move  alone  through  paths  crepuscular — 
Dear  heart,  remember  me,  remember  me. 


XI. 


WOULD  that  my  life  might  be  like  this  glen  stream 
That  from  an  unknown  up]and  takes  its  way! 
By  flowery  meadows  tempted  not  to   stray, 
By  rugged   rock-bed  pausing  not  to  dream, 
But   hastening   ever   where   the    blue   waves   gleam 
To  open  water,  to  the  fuller  day; 
Onward  and  outward,  till  it  wears  away 
Imprisoning   walls,    however    fair   they   seem. 
My  heart  turns  backward  where  the  flowers  were  sweet, 
Upon  its  rugged  pathway  sinks  afraid. 
Consider,  Lord,  thy  child,  alone,  dismayed ; 
By  trust  and  faith  make  confident  my  feet. 
Reveal,  as  I  pass  on  through  dark  or  bright, 
The  far,  fair  waters  calling  out  of  sight. 


21 


XII. 


ACROSS  the  hills,  in  vivid  autumn  trod, 
Where  sodden  leaves  and  slinging  snows  have  lain, 
Bare-footed  April  tips  her  urn  of  rain 
And   sudden  greenness  sweeps   along  the  sod. 
Where   lovers   strayed   the   newly  wakened   clod, 
Remembering  their  passion,  peace  and  pain — 
Remembering  their  rapture — will   attain 
To   violet,   eglantine   and   goldenrod. 
Nature  responds  to  every  mood  of  man, 
Her  earth-song  lulls  him  to  his  one  true  rest; 
Incorporate  in  her  diurnal   plan, 
He  climbs  through  fire   and   crystal   on   his  quest. 
By  lovers'  footsteps  thrilled,  her  tender  powers 
Compel  insensate  dust  to  rise  in  flowers. 


XIII. 
APRIL  RAIN.    I. 

DRY,  unawakened  woods,  beneath  my  feet 
Marasmas  leaves,  a-rustle  drearily, 
Confess  your   nakedness.      As   wearily, 
Listening  the   minor  monotones  of  sweet 
Old   runes  the  hemlocks  to  the  pines  repeat, 
You  hide  the  sesame — the  mystery 
Of  dim  witholding — potent  history 
Of  waiting — in  each  mossy,  shy  retreat. 
Diaphanous  shadows  that  the  bare  boughs  make, 
Betraying   latent   longings   of   the    sod ; 
Still  somnolent,  grey  isles  yearning  to  break 
In  bloodroot,  trillium  and  prophets  rod, 
You  teach  the  heart,  weeping  a  secret  pain, 
The   deep   significance   of  April    rain. 


23 


XIV. 
APRIL  RAIN.    II. 

THE  ovenbird  reports  to  us  again; 
Along  the  cliff,  beneath  the  pine,  his  call 
Resounds;   he  nods  and  bobs  beside  the  fall 
Shrunken  with  arid   longings.      'Tis  the  rain 
He   prophecies   in   language   loud   and   plain. 
As  if  at  his  insistence,  over  all 
Eolus  breathes  and  like  a  funeral  pall 
Descend  the  shadows;  as  quick  tears  to  pain 
The  warm  drops  patter,   patter  on  the   sod. 
How  sweet  the  scent  of  the  moist,  breaking  soil! 
Gladly  the  fern  fronds  from  their  sleep  uncoil, 
And  dim,  far  hills  lift  thirsting  lips  to  God; 
While  all  that  myriad  life,  witheld  from  sight, 
Moves  slowly   upward    as   a   soul    seeks   light. 


24 


XV. 
APRIL  RAIN.    III. 

PERSISTENTLY  the  rain  fell  through  the  night; 
I  could  not  sleep  for  the  incessant  roar, 
As  chafed  the  troubled  lake  upon  the  shore 
And  the  great  cataract  clamoured  for  the  light. 
When  morning  dawned,  what  wonders  meet  the  sight! 
A  tremulous  green  where  all  was  gray  before; 
The  woods  seemed  all  astir.      I,  evermore, 
Seeking  departed  joy,  a  lost  delight, 
Strayed  mid  the  fallen  leaves  of  other  years 
And  found  the  shrine  where,  timid  nuns  at  prayer, 
The  shy,  gray-hooded  liverwort  uprears 
Its  azure  chalice  to  the  genial  air. 
Child  of  the  dreary  rain,  lo!  April  stands 
With  the  whole  wealth  of  summer  in  her  hands. 


25 


XVI. 

LIKE  a  gray  nun  who  treads  on  silent  feet, 
The  dawn  creeps  slowly,  in  her  hand  a  star; 
The  forest  throws  her  dusky  gates  ajar; 
Her  murmurous  responses,  low  and  sweet, 
Fill  cloistered  columns  of  tenebrous  trees 
Whose  wavering  shadows  scatter  fast  and  far, 
As  when   a   kindly  hand   the   gates   unbar 
To  let  the  convent  sheep   across  the   leas. 
Above   orchestral   branches,   borne    along 
The   morning  air,  like  ocean's   lambent  swell, 
Clear  as  the  vibrant  peal  of  convent  bell, 
The  whitethroat  chants  anew  his  matin  song, 
So  sweet,  so  sad,  so  joyous,  wild  and  strong; 
Repeats,  "All,  all  is  well,  is  well,  is  well." 


26 


XVII. 

THE  city  streets  recede,  its  noises  cease; 
Forgot  the  surging  crowd's  tumultuous  flow; 
Again   where    autumn's   mellow   breezes   blow 
Through  spicy  branches  of  great  hemlock  trees, 
Along    the    cowpaths,    stretching    out    in    peace 
To   sheer,  gray  cliffs  where,  beating  far  below, 
The  foam-flecked  lake  restlessly  to  and  fro 
Repeats  the  north  wind's  murmurous  melodies, 
I   walk   beside   thee,   dreaming,   hand    in   hand, 
Through  the  brown  pasture,  in  the  sunset  glow. 
Turn  thy  fond  thoughts  from  thy  great  city's  glare, 
To  meet  mine  where   stellated   hazel-wand 
Points  past  the  dreary  winter's  ice  and   snow 
To  hours  that  wait  us  on  those  hills  of  prayer. 


27 


XVIII. 

A   BLUEBIRD  carols  his  immortal  song 
Beneath  torn  shreds  of  blue  Aprilian  sky; 
At  the  glad  sound  across  the  inward  eye 
Forgotten   raptures  that  to  youth  belong — 
Lost  love,  keen  joy,  firm  faith  with  scorn  of  wrong — 
Flash   into  being.      Where   the   sunbeams   lie 
On  pearled   arbutus  flower,  by  cataract  high 
And  foaming,  'neath  the  pine  changeless   and   strong, 
That  whispers  to  the  leaping  stream  below, 
Again  I  stray,   love-dowered,   unmarred  by  care 
And  memories  that  sting  like  bitter  pain. 
The  city  streets  withdraw;  once  more  I  know 
Glad  childhood's   aspiration,   fancy,  prayer, 
In  the  blithe  song  the  bluebird  sings  to  me. 


28 


XIX. 

THE  gray  glen  shoulder  gloomed  the  sunset  light, 
Till  from  its  summit,  where  I  paused  to  rest, 
The  mighty,  smouldering  ember  of  the  West, 
With  Venus,   burning  spark-like,   flamed   in   sight. 
The   lake  with  violet,   rose   and  gold   bedight, 
Burned  to  dull  ash;  from  vale  and  misty  crest, 
Dreamily  limned  in  palest  amethyst, 
Far  cottage  windows  twinkled  through  the  night. 
Silence  on   all  the  scene — silence  that  came 
Brooding  on  wings  of  darkness,  till  my  heart 
Broke  with  a  longing  that  would  not  be  still. 
I  called  thee,  dear,  striving  to  make  thee  part 
Of  time  and  place;   I  called   aloud  thy  name 
As  the  great  moon  flamed  crimson  o'er  the  hill. 


29 


XX. 


sapphire  lake  with  whit  reaps  was  befoamed; 
1     O'er  dappled  skies  the  clouds  were  all  a-sail; 
Bright  leaves  before  the  sooth's  impetuous  gale 
Swept  the  October  roadways  where  we  roamed. 
Glad   rang  oar  laughter  as  we  saw  the  gold 
Or  autumn  berries  CIUWD  a  tangled  hedge, 
And  pulled  them  downward  from  their  rocky  ledge 
To  cheer  us  through  the  coming  months  of  cold. 
Dear  friend,  though  cities  daim  us  for  their  own, 
Still  ours  that  morning  glad  with  wind  and  SOB. 
Our  happy  days  together  are  outran, 
For  we  pursue  oar  separate  wajs  alone. 
O  blessed  days,  in  memory's  calm  retreat 
Perpetuate!     Lore  knows  its  bittersweet. 


XXT. 

TRANSLUCENT  mists,  in  sinnoas  masses  lying 
On  distant  hill  and  lake  and  leaping  stream, 
Are  symbols  of  die  inner  world  of  dream 
Whence  visioned  images,  illusive,  flying, 
On  sensuous  winds  fiom  realms  beyond  descrying 
More  through  oar  common  day  and  ever  seem 
To  beckon — loyalties  and  faiths  that 
And  fade  before  the  world's  ii 
O  half -remembered,  far  off,  vanished  hoar! 
Old  love  and  war  and  triumph  that  were  mine! 
Lend  to  this  moment's  ever-doubtful  power 
The  largess  of  high  purposes  of  thine. 

_   "  -.  1  ~.     . ... .»7»      f  '.  "-17  r  '-  ~-     ~.~.-.     ~  ~  ~.  »  r  r.  ~    ~'~  .~.~-    '•'--'     Z  *  2  I  r 

And  make  ethereal  all  earth's 


31 


XXII. 

/CLEMATIS  vines  their  snowy  petals  shed, 
^S  Mellifluous  as  the  roses  Hafiz  knew. 
The  ardent  moon,  across  abysmal  blue, 
Bends  o'er  the  lake — a  virgin  in  her  bed. 
On  such  a  night,  dear  heart,  thy  pillowed  head 
Lay  for  a  moment  on  my  breast.      I  knew 
Thy  beckoning  lips'   erotic  breath  that  drew 
Hymeneal  kisses  warm  as  vintage   red. 
O  night  of  passion,  passed  to  come  no  more! 
Desire  burnt  into  the  heart's  last  beat! 
Gone   as  estival  birds  to  south  land   flown. 
Hark,  where   the   lake   upon   its   shingly   shore 
Chants  its  placebo,  murmurously  sweet, 
To  silent  loneliness  and  summer  flown! 


32 


XXIII. 

AUTUMNAL  pools  that  knew  the  Spring's  full  flood, 
The  bright  cerule  of  laughing  summer  skies, 
Droned  over  by  the  darting  dragonflies, 
Sung  over  by  the  veery's   happy  brood, 
Incarnadined  by   rich  October's  wood, 
Whitened  when  wintry  vapors  crystallize, 
Half  in  expectancy,  half  in  surprise, 
I  see  myself  reflected  in  your  mood. 
Gray  eyes,  so  dear  to  me — grown  doubly  dear 
In  absence — you  are  like  this  morroring  deep 
Where  things  exalted   and  ecstatic  sleep. 
When  isolation  and  sere  age  draw  near, 
Reflect   my  love,   my   song  of   longing  hear, 
And  in  your  depths  my  image  constant  keep. 


33 


XXIV. 

MY  heart  is  like  this  nest,  this  empty  one, 
Where  clematic  petals  pour  their  pearly  spray- 
A  cataract,  a  frozen  roundelay — 
Mist-wreathed  drops  imprisoned  by  the  sun. 
Yon  tired  streamlet  shrivels  in   its   run; 
The  silent  bittern  stalks  his  watery  prey; 
The  hills  in  hazy  beauty  stretch  away — 
Dream-hills  that  blush  to  tell  the  day  is  done. 
The  crimson  bough,  where  autumn  breaks  her  heart 
Upon  the  dying  year,  lets  slowly  fall 
Its  ruddy  drops  like  tears  of  blood.      The  call 
Of  the  great  lake  upon  outlying  bars 
Is  like  a  sob.     Lest  pain  should  kill,  depart, 
O  memory.      Holy  night,  reveal  thy  stars! 


XXV. 

THE  aspiring  vine  its  crimson  chalice  spills; 
Like  moslem  priests  in  minarets  of  prayer, 
Late  bees  in  towering  shafts  of  bloom  declare 
Their  droning  benediction ;   silence  fills 
The  forest  choir;  the  bare  fields'  even  drills — 
Calm  shadowy  aisles — receive  the   farmer's  care ; 
The  bonfire   breathes  its  incense  on  the   air, 
The  corn  is  cloistered  on  the  peaceful  hills; 
Now  rings  the  vesper  of  the  homing  crows,  ffl 

Whose   restless  tide,   a   stygian   river,   flows 
Across  the  sky ;  beneath  the  stable  eaves 
The  winter  wren  his  tiny  bugle  blows; 
At  night  the  downy  owlet  pleads  and  grieves 
And  sobs  his  heart  out  to  the  falling  leaves. 


35 


XXVI. 

AMID  September's  tented  corn  I  lie, 
The  lake's  unrippled  purple  spread  below, 
Where  vast  cloud-navies,  drifting  to  and  fro, 
Mimic  the  pageant  of  the  threatening  sky. 
O'er  distant  hills  in  dark  immensity 
Grim  shadow-armies  pass;  on  winds  that  blow 
From   unknown,    sinuous   savannas,   lo! 
A  gull  in  ghostly  silence  tilting  by. 
Kerald   of  conquering  autumn,  when   I   see 
Thine  errant  wing  athwart  the  azure  field, 
The  goldenrod's  bright  ranks  of  yellow  yield; 
The  dying  vine  hangs  bleeding  on  the  tree; 
And   from  the  forest's  ancient  wall,  behold, 
Autumnal  banners — crimson  edged  with  gold! 


36 


XXVII. 

OUNLIGHT  and  shadow  on  the  hills  of  dream, 
W-J  Like  memory,  weave  a  web  of  dark  and  bright. 
Pearly  and  opalescent  falls  the  light 
On  halcyon  lake,  gray  cliff  and  leaping  stream. 
Along  the  eastern  ridge  farm  windows  gleam 
Like  tremulous  tapers  set  against  the  night, 
As  the  fast  westering  sun,  sinking  from  sight, 
Shoots  through  the  autumn  haze  its  crimson  beam. 
The  snowy  gull  aspires  on  ruddy  wings; 
The  clanging  crows  in  solemn  phalanx  come ; 
A  sparrow,  dreaming  of  his  vanished  springs, 
Sweet  snatch  of  half-remembered   rapture  sings, 
While  through  the  shadowy  purple  of  the  gloam 
A  distant  bleating  tells  of  fold  and  home. 


37 


XXVIII. 
THE  COUNTRY  HOUSE  IN  NOVEMBER 


are  its  eyes,  its  gabled  wings  seem  furled 
Its  looming  tower  a  specter  gaunt  and  tall  ; 
Its  chimneys  'gainst  the  gray  cliff's  glooming  wall, 
Bereft  of  filmy  smoke-robes  once  upcurled 
From  happy  hearths,  frown  naked  on  the  world. 
Moody  November  skies  brood  over  all, 
Heavy  and  vaporless;  dead  vines,  that  sprawl 
The  trellis,  yield  a  flora  frost-impearled. 
Enter!      The  melancholly  halls  none  tread; 
The  stairs  creak  echoes  of  far  distant  feet; 
Draped  couch  and  chair  stand  ghostly;   and  above, 
In  the  dim  chamber,  the  dismantled  bed 
Like  a  white  altar  rises;  dear  retreat 
Of  dreams,  of  aspiration,  sleep  and  love. 


LOVE    SONNETS 


39 


SO  long  since  you  departed !     Once  again 
The  sunset  flames.     The  ancient  host  of  stars — 
Twilighted   Venus,   dawn's   imperial   Mars — 
Have  treked  across  the  heaven's  westering  plain ; 
The  giant  Sun  leads  forth  his  splendid  train. 
One  brief,  bright  day!      And  tidal  years  shall  flow 
Between  us;  summer  roses,  autumn  glow, 
The  harvest-shrouding  snow  and  April   rain! 
Will  you  remember?     Lo!  the  shadows  fall, 
The  sunset's  luminosity  is  spent. 
My  thoughts  go  wandering  upward,  like  a  star, 
Unto  dim  unknown  worlds,  remote  and  far. 
Oh,  shall  we  meet  beyond  that  shrouded  tent 
Where  darkness,  sleep  and   silence   roundeth   all? 


41 


II. 


MY  tiny  lute  hath  such  a  tremulous  string, 
Too  small,  too  weak,  to  chant  love's  mighty  song; 
Sometimes  I  feel  I  only  do  thee  wrong, 
Dear  heart,  when  impotently  thus  I  sing. 
Yet,  day  by  day,  persistently  I  bring 
The   tribute  of   my  melody;    prolong 
My  singing  till  the  stars,  grown  calm  and  strong, 
Hear  the   earth-old,   immortal   music   ring. 
Dost  weary  grow  of  this  dull  chant  of  mine? 
This   all-persistent,   contumacious   strain? 
Oh!   should  this  throbbing,  vibrant  little  lute 
Break  with  the  burden  of  its  theme  divine, 
Fall   insufficient,  would   some   sweet   refrain 
Breathe  on  in  memory,  though  life's  chord  be  mute? 


III. 


ISLANDS  in  far  cerulean  seas  a-dream, 
Gay  Faunus  to  your  shadowy  retreat 
Invites  the  nymphs  no  more;   no  music  sweet 
Of  reedy  lute,  no  pallid  Luna-beam 
Falling  on  wind-tossed  hair  and  eyes  a-gleam, 
Woo  to  mad  joys,  intangible  and  fleet; 
Great  pagan  Pan  is  dead;  our  pilgrim  feet 
Seek  vainly  by  Ionian  grove   and  stream. 
Yet  when  the  sun  encrimsons  sky  and  sea, 
Our  fresh,  new  world  blushing  incarnadine, 
A  bright,  illusive  spirit  walks  with  me. 
Beloved   Faun,   round  life's  Dryadic  tree 
Weaving  that  wierd,  alchemic  spell  of  thine, 
Breath  on  thy  lute   and  bid  grim  sorrow  flee. 


43 


IV. 


BELOVED,  I  have  often  heard  thee  say 
Thy  life  was  small  account  in  field  or  mart, 
Thy  hand  refused  to  answer  to  thy  heart, 
Vain,  idle,  useless,  seemed  thine  earthly  way. 
Consider  what  I  tell  thee — day  by  day 
I  wake  to  joy  because  I  know  thou  art, 
Thy  life  in  every  act  of  mine  hath  part, 
Thou  art  in  all  I  do  or  dream  or  pray. 
Is  it  of  little  value  thus  to  bring 
Another's  life  some  purpose  high  and  pure? 
What  ocean  argosy  or  wealth  of  mine 
Can  weigh  in  balance  with  so  blest  a  thing? 
Such  gift  of  spirit  shall  through  time  endure 
And  afterward  in  heaven  make  me  thine. 


44 


V. 


I  LIFT  my  heart  that  thou  mayst  see  the  light 
Glint  through  the  wine  of  love  thy  hand  hath  poured. 
As  comrades  gather  round  the  festal  board 
To  pledge  good  cheer  with  mirth  and  music  bright, 
I  stepped  from  out  the  shadow  of  the  night 
Where  I  have  tarried  with  my  sorry  hoard 
Of  pain  and  tears.      Now  let  thy  heart  accord 
That  courtesy  that  is  the  stranger's  right. 
Yea,  I  am  stranger  to  such  joy,  dear  heart! 
How  came  I  by  this  precious  wealth  of  wine? — 
I  on  whose  brow  the  years  have  left  their  dole. 
Come,  let  me  pledge  thee,  lest  I  should  depart 
Fearing  to  harm  thy  life  with  love  of  mine. 
Look  in  my  eyes  and  let  me  drink  thy  soul. 


45 


VI. 


OFTEN  the  thought,  "I  will  not  love  him  so," 
Sends  me  to  seek  my  duty  or  my  play. 
I   bar  the   door  of  memory,  turn   away 
All    resolute.      I   hasten   to   and   fro 
Mid  friends  and  old  associates  and  show 
A  smiling  face,  a  merry  mood.     I  say, 
"Lo !  now  I  do  not  need  him ;  every  day 
My  individual  life  shall  stronger  grow 
Till  brave,  content,  I  walk  my  way  apart." 
Then  suddenly,  as  on  a  winter  night 
When   passing  near   a  church   where   people   sing 
One  sees  the  great  doors  on  their  hinges  swing, 
Light,  beauty,  music,  greet  the  ear,  the  sight: 
I  am  with  thee  and  cling  about  thy  heart. 


VII. 

A   POET  you  are  though  never  from  your  pen 
Falleth  a  line  to  move  the  heart  to  tears, 
Inspire  to  finer  action,  cheat  of  fears, 
Or  soothe  to  peace  the  restless  minds  of  men. 
Dear   poet   soul,   my   inspiration!     when 
Existence  wearies  'neath  the   ache  of  years; 
When  desolated,  lonely,  my  life  hears 
You  call  to  action,  I  revive  again. 
What  means   this   purpose  of  existence,   dear, 
This  power  to  ennoble,  to  exalt? 
Should  love  be  hope  to  live  by;  memory, 
A  warm,  close  presence;   an  inspiring  thought? 
Teach  me  your  spirit's  lore,  your  wish  narrate, 
Let  me  interpret  and  perpetuate. 


VIII. 

COME,  let  me  love  thee  in  the  old,  sweet  way, 
Thy  dear  head,  pillowed  on  my  outstretched  arm, 
Thy  cheek  against  rny  bosom.      Starry  calm 
Of  amorous  night,  sinking  in  seas  of  gray, 
Departs   with   dreams.     Morn's   all-compellent   ray 
Wakens  to  action,  dissipates  the  charm 
That  cheats  my  loneliness,  lethargic  balm, 
The  wile  of  sorrow,  old  as  night  and  day. 
Beloved  thou  art  far,  yet  near  to  me, 
If  through  unpeopled  space  our  thoughts  have  flown, 
Claiming   each  other.      Ages   since,  we   lay 
Together  in   the   dawn.      Now   let  us  be 
In  thought  as  rose  leaves  ere  the  rose  is  blown; 
Come,  let  me  love  thee  in  the  old,  sweet  way. 


48 


IX. 


0,  Love,  let  us  be  true!  life's  brief,  love  rare; 
The  sea  towards  which  we  journey,  that  we  hear 
Faintly  in  childhood,  hour  by  hour  draws  near; 
Its  solitary  vastness  each  must  dare 
Alone;   what  matters  all  our  heaped-up  care, 
Our  restleness,   ambition,   selfish  fear 
Lest  others  win,  when  o'er  that  darkling  mere 
To  an  unspoken  port  we  must  repair? 
Earth  has  so  little  really  worth  our  while; 
Her  baubles  flash  and  shatter  in  our  hand ; 
Sin  beckons   and  we   laughingly  pursue 
To  find  the  skeleton  behind  the  smile ; 
And  ever  nearer  on  its  fretted  sand 
Beats  the  vast  sea — O  Love,  let  us  be  true! 


49 


X. 


IF  I  should  fall  asleep,  to  wake  no  more, 
And  you  should  look  upon  my  dreamless  face, 
Discover  death  had  power  to  erase 
The  lines  that  time's  erosive  finger  wore; 
If,  mid  the  tributes  of  the  love  men  bore, 
You  saw  my  folded  hands  and  knew  the  race 
Was  won  and  mine  the  happy  victor's  place ; 
Would  you  desire  that  heaven  my  life  restore? 
Had  you  the  power  of  him  of  old  to  raise 
Life  in  the  lifeless,  would  you  touch  my  eyes, 
Bidding  them  open  to  the  sun  and  rain? 
Take  my  cold  hand  to  feel  its  pulses  rise? 
Call  me   across  the   starlit,  heavenly  ways 
That  we  might  laugh  and  weep  and  kiss  again? 


50 


XI. 


A   PLEACHED  garden  seemed  thy  quiet  love, 
A  trellised,  rose-hung  nook  where  shadows  stray 
In  pencilled  patterns,  where  Time's  gnomon  gray 
Marks   only   sunny   hours.      Behold!     I   rove 
Through  a  vast  realm  where  gods  and  demons  move 
Contending;   where  dim  vistas  bid  me  stray; 
Where  service  waits ;  high  vision  calls  away. 
I  could  not  turn  me  back  howe'er  I  strove. 
Red  rose  of  passion,  bend  thy  blooms  to  me! 
Lily  of  love,  thy  flavous  stamens  show! 
The  dusty  highway  and  the  wicket  gate 
Forgotten  now,   since  I   abide  with  thee. 
Lead  thou  me  on  until  I  come  to  know 
Peace,  that  shall  be  with  love  commensurate. 


51 


XII. 


THE  flowers  are  dead,  the  bird  no  longer  sings; 
They  know  the  hour  has  struck  their  time  to  go; 
Now  winter  creeps  upon  us  sure  and  slow, 
As  a  gaunt  wolf  that  pauses  ere  he  springs; 
Soon  you,  beloved,  will  be  far  away 
From  trusting  hearts  that  count  you  all  their  own. 
The  snow  and  frost  of  absence,  all  unknown 
To  joy,  will  drift  through  life's  inclement  day. 
Through  winter  solstice  will  you  hearken,  dear, 
For  the  first  wilding's  matin  song  of  Spring? 
Be  constant  to  love's  fond  remembering? 
Know  memory's  estival  throughout  the  year? 
So  only  can  I  make  this  love  of  ours 
Break  into  song  and  blossom  into  flowers. 


52 


XIII. 

WHEN  we  together  lived  those  halcyon  days 
That  now  are  memory,  Joy  and  I  were  kin. 
She  dwelt  beneath  my  thatch,  she  sang  therein 
With  sweet  insistency;  the  woodland  ways, 
The  haunts  of  men  were  tuneful  with  her  lays, 
The  unattainable  was  mine  to  win ; 
She  lit  the  commonplace  of  life ;  within, 
My  heart  invoked   forgotten   prayer  and   praise. 
Absent  from  thee,  another  chants  her  songs 
Beside  my  hearth,  I  have  grown  kin  to  pain. 
Each  life  that  suffers  unto  me  belongs, 
No  tear  drop  falls,  no  anguish  calls  in  vain. 
Because  of  thee,  O  love,  my  spirit  knows 
The  height  of  joy,  the  depth  of  human  woes. 


53 


XIV. 

DID  we  not  stand  in  love's  supremest  light? 
Know  all  of  bliss,  all  love's  sweet  lore  can  say? 
We  may  not  on  the  summit  always  stay, 
The  gates  of  heaven  open  to  the  sight. 
Nay,  my  beloved,  better  from  the  height 
Descend  our  separate  paths  than,  day  by  day, 
Feel  the  dull  commonplace  corrode   away 
Love's  dear  perfection  or  the  less  requite 
Our  longing  for  infinitude.      To  know 
All  that  there  is  to  know  of  love  is  well. 
The  soul  grows  saintlier  through  such  blessed  gain. 
Come  let  us  kiss  and  part  while  loving  so; 
The  height  is  ours,  love  has  no  more  to  tell — 
And  take  our  separate  pathway  to  the  plain. 


54 


XV. 


LAST  night  I  saw  the  star  Capella  glow, 
Autumnal  star  that  ages  hence  shall  rise 
Beyond  the  eastern  hill,  from  storm-tossed  skies 
Shining  resplendent  over  stretching  snow. 
And  I,  who  watched  it  gleam  and  shimmer  so, 
Found  dimming  tears  steal  from  my  upturned  eyes, 
Remembering  my  hours  in  paradise 
Where  misty,   starlit  waters  ebb   and   flow. 
Remote,  insentient  world,  whirling  afar! 
Forever  shedding  through  vast  space  thy  ray! 
Love  issuing  from  God  his  brightest  star 
Outshineth,  orbed  in  everlasting  day; 
Space  dims  it  not,  it  never  waxeth  old ; 
We  shall  love  on  when  yonder  star  grows  cold. 


55 


XVI. 

A   LL  bright,  external  things  corrode  and  fade, 
**•  ^    As  roses  of  the  summer,  as  the  grass 
On  which  our  June-glad  feet  are  gay  to  pass; 
Bird-song  to   silence   sinks,  sunshine  to  shade. 
Corporeal  love  that  for  a  little  made 
A  garden  of  the  heart,  how  soon,  alas! 
Memory  repeats  its  age-old  requiem  mass 
To  joys  outlived,  to  withered  garlands  laid! 
Yet  something  back  of  love's  beseeching  eyes 
Teaches  the  spirit  wisdom;   there  I  see 
A  quality  that  changes  not  nor  dies, 
Though  lives  be  sundered.      I  shall  bear  with  me 
Across  death's  portal   and  beyond  the   skies 
Love's  great  unnamed,  immortal  mystery. 


XVII. 

AS  those  who  hear  death's  all-compelling  wings 
Pause  in  the  darkness,  I  have  come  to  know 
The  pain  of  those  who  listen  to  the  low 
Murmur  of  that  vast  sea,  whose  ebbing  brings 
No  answering  moan;  the  sea  that  ever  sings 
Of  joys  outgone.      To  love,  to  want  thee  so, 
And  nevermore  to  see  thee,  never  go 
And  take  thy  hand  in  mine !     Death's  shadow  flings 
No  blacker  pall  of  silence,  than  must  fall 
Between  us,  dear.    Yet,  as  we  hope  to  meet 
Our  loved  ones  after  life's  brief  course  is  run, 
I  feel  that  love's  great  angel  will  recall 
Me  to  his  presence,  and  at  his  calm  feet 
We  shall  bow  down  together  and  be  one. 


57 


XVIII. 

LOVE  is  not  fixed,  it  ebbs  and  flows,  a  sea; 
A  melody;  a  river  from  some  height 
Unknown,  unguessed,  whose  source  is  hid  in  light 
Silent  the  singer — hushed  the  melody. 
The   river's  pearl,  the  ocean's   argosy, 
Save  for  the  diver,  slumbers  out  of  sight, 
Save  for  the  sailor,  yields  us  no  delight. 
Love  was,  love  is,  alas!   love  may  not  be. 
For  love  is  won  only  by  lovingness ; 
Each  morning  we  must  win  its  shining  dole; 
Each  night  its  wealth  of  tenderness  express — 
The  blessed  barter  of  the  mind  and  soul. 
Who  would  his  rightful  dower  of  love  retain 
Must  win  that  love  again  and  yet  again. 


XIX. 

0 

THE  day  is  over,  every  duty  done, 
Each   sacrifice   achieved,   each  promise   rilled 
The  lights  are  out,  the  busy  house  is  stilled ; 
Along  the  orbit  of  the  hurrying  sun 
The  pensive,  silent,  tender  stars  have  won 
Their  place ;  with  rapture  is  my  spirit  thrilled ; 
Pain,  pride,  the  passion  of  a  heart  self-willed, 
Forgotten — since   at  last  I   am   alone. 
Groping  by  hidden  panel,  secret  stair, 
By   shaded  lane,   by  daisy-whitened   lea ; 
Under  May's  blossom  bough,  to  valleys  where 
The  flowers  that  I  have  lost  are  kept  for  me; 
By   lonely   paths  that  only   love  would   dare 
My  soul  steals  forth  to  keep  its  tryst  with  thee. 


59 


XX. 


ONCE  came  the  angel  with  the  flaming  face, 
Discovered   us,  half  strangers,  in  the  night, 
Vibrant  beneath  the  moon's  illusive  light, 
With  mighty   primal   passions  of  our   race, 
Drawn    planet-like    through    intervening    space 
By  God's  attractive  law.      Resistless  might, 
Archical,    sweeping   from    bewildered    sight 
Old  landmarks  and  the  bonds  of  time  and  place. 
Yet  Eros  rules  the  soul  by  higher  power 
Than  sensuousness;   within  the  human  heart 
The  spirit  puts  the  meaner  lusts  to  shame. 
I  love  thee — love  thee  better,  hour  by  hour; 
Through  these  mute  pauses,  when  we  dwell  apart, 
God's  mightiest  angel  singeth  through  the  flame. 


60 


XXI. 

NOT  yet  the  lips — not  yet  the  clasping  hand ; 
Let  me  drink  in  thy  being,  let  thy  face 
False  images  of   doubt  and   dread   replace. 
Like  a  pale  anchorite  I  dumbly  stand 
Before  an  altar,  waiting  the  command 
To  light  the  holy  candles  and  efface 
The  gloom  descending  on  the  cup  and  vase, 
Awed  by  a  power  I  may  not  understand. 
In  thy  return  love's  eucharist  I  know; 
Thy  spirit  cloisters  in  my  waiting  heart, 
Where  hovering  like  John's  dove,   all   angel-white, 
Love  greets  the  dawning  of  the  perfect  light. 
Bread  of  thy  presence  to  my  life  bestow; 
Wine  of  communion  to  my  soul  impart. 


61 


XXII. 

UT    OVE,  I  would  climb  no  farther  than  I  may," 

•*-'  My  laggard  spirit  cried,  and  Love  dropped  down 
Beside  my  tent,  with  harp  and  laurel  crown, 
Waiting   throughout   the   burden  of  the   day. 
Whv-n   tlainin:;   sunset   burned   itself  to  gray, 
And    underfoot   the    fallen    leaves   grew   brown 
And   sodden  with  the  dew,   1   touched  his  gown, 
His  harp,  his  arrow:    Love  had   flown   away. 
Then  from  above  a  voice  celestial  said: 
"Who  wins  me  never  keeps  me  as  a  guest; 
Imprison   me,   1   fly;   by   day.   by   night 
Follow    my   own.   unwearied,   unafraid. 
I   am  the  spirit  of  the  eternal  quest, 
Luring  the  soul  toward   its  shining  height." 


62 


XXIII. 

THE  chanting  pines  amid  their  choir  of  cones 
Made  musical  the  forest's  cloistered   way; 
The  stream  sang  round  its  boulder,  lichen-gray, 
Or  lisped  along  its  ledge  in  monotones. 
Above  the  glen-cathedral's   rocky  zones 
The  evening  star  on  faded  roseleaves  lay; 
Afar  \ve  heard  the  lake's  white  fingers  play 
Adagios  on   its  instrument  of  stones, 
And  dreamed  the  dream  that  is  the  heart  of  God. 
Though  dreams  are  ended,  and  the  winter  snows 
Cover  the  flowers  our  careless  footsteps  trod, 
Broken  and  dead,  yet  in  the  heart  remains 
The  song  as,  when  a  singer  silent  grows, 
The  last  low  chord  the  melody  sustains. 


fi3 


XXIV. 

LOVE  passed  my  way  and  kissed  me  as  he  flew — 
Come  back,  sweet  love,  return  on  breath  of  May 
The  cherry  blossoms  whiten  on  the  spray, 
The  ploughshare  turns  the  pregnant  soil  to  view. 
Sweet  is  the  scent  of  the  good  earth,  and  true 
Its   promise.      From   my   sorry   heart   astray, 
Come,  thou  illusive  love,  thy  roundelay 
Sing,  as  the  robin  sings  that  builds  anew. 
Behold  how  free  the  ice-locked  waters  run! 
Upon  the  ledges  blooms  the  columbine ; 
The  foaming  rue  runs  riot  in  the  sun ; 
The  coral  bud  is  on  the  eglantine. 
My  heart's  delight,  return  and  sing  again, 
Sing  as  sang  Orpheus  in  the  haunts  of  pain. 


64 


XXV. 

0 

PAN  the  mysterious,  in  a  secret  glade 
Sleeps  unattended,  'neath  a  runic  stone ; 
And  Eolus,  with  vernal  breath,  has  blown 
The  snows  away;  the  ghostly  frosts  are  laid. 
Come,  let  us  seek  him  where  the   runlet  made 
A  path  of  cowslip  gold,  or  violets  strown, 
Like  sapphires,  make  a  worthy  hillside  throne, 
Or  'neath  the  nascent  leaves'   uncertain   shade. 
Now  earth  is  young,  as  when  with  mellow  tone 
His  care-free  pipes  bade  grass   and   flower   arise, 
And  laughing  wood-nymphs  from  his  presence  ran. 
Haply  this  lichened  boulder  is  his  stone ! 
Friend  of  my  heart,  within  thy  quiet  eyes 
I  look — and,  lo !    I  hear  the  pipes  of  Pan. 


XXVI. 

A    SINGING  beggar,  dost  thou  bid  me  go 
Cease  to  rehearse  this  wonder-love  of  mine, 
I  who  am  all  unworthy  love  like  thine, 
But,  having  loved,  must  ever  love  thee  so? 
Bereft  of  me,  is  it  thy  wish  to  know 
Silence;  within  thy  castle  to  confine 
Thy  spirit,   sit  alone   and   drink  thy  wine, 
And  all  we  dreamed  together  overthrow? 
Wouldst  have  thy  days  as  those  before  I  came 
Singing  my  love-song  by  thy  postern  gate? 
Love's   beggar,   offering  music  for  estate 
Beside  the  master,  singing  in  love's  name? 
Remembering  how  I  loved  thee — shall  I  lay 
My  harp   across  my  shoulder   and   away? 


XXVII. 

I  THOUGHT  to^iiide  my  love  with  subtle   art 
Where  none  might  guess  its  presence,  none  might  see, 
Only  to  find  it  where  at  dawn  the  bee 
Sucks  the  pink  lips  of  the  wild  rose  apart, 
To   find   her  nectaries;   where   swallows   dart 
At  twilight;  in  the  bright  transiliency 
Of  murmurous  brooks;  the  lake's  homophony; 
In  beauty's  dream;   in  duty's  aching  heart. 
Love  is  our  patience  with  the  wayward  child, 
The  hand  that  reaches  to  the  weak  and  lone; 
The  song  of  praise;  the  consecrated  vow; 
It  lifts  to  God  what  earth  had  else  defiled. 
In  deeps,  in  heights,  it  bids  me  seek  my  own, 
And  after  death  will  lead  me  e'en  as  now. 


67 


XXVIII. 

TIS  evening;  I  have  laid  my  work  aside, 
As  all  day  long  I  thrust  a  thought  from  me 
Unto  life's  outer  verge — refused   to  see 
That  which  in  memory  and  dream  abide; 
Toiled  in  the  commonplace  unglorified 
By  life's  best  joy — the  joy  of  loving  thee ; 
Battened  the  door  against  the  melody; 
Trampled  the  vision  lest  my  angel  chide. 
But  now  the  after  glow  is  on  the  hill ; 
The  lake  all  opalescent  as  a  shell, 
Holding   autumnal   glory   interwove 
With  its  own  azure;  now  my  weary  will, 
A  tired  child,  no  longer  need  rebel, 
Lying  quiescent  in  encircling  love. 


XXIX. 

ft 

0   CAGED  bird,  that  all-exultant  sings 
A  song  of  sweet,  forbidden  minstrelsy! 
Daily  I  fling  the  wicket  wide  to  free 
Thy  eager  eyes,  thy  ever-restless  wings. 
"Thou  who  art  fit  to  be  the  gift  of  kings, 
Go  hence,"  I  cry,  "why  tarry  here  with  me"? 
And  evermore  refusing  liberty, 
My  prisoned   songster's  glad  exuberance   rings. 
Sing  on!    Why  should  my  spirit  bid  thee  go? 
All  joys  corporeal  unto  thee  belong; 
From  thee  men  learn  anew  the  Eden-song, 
From  thee   God's  heavenly  language  come  to  know. 
Oh,  sanctify  my  passion,  lift  my  heart 
Unto  the  realms  supernal  whence  thou  art! 


C9 


XXX. 


never  go  so  far  I  cannot  find": 
These  words  on  memory's  scroll  are  graven  deep: 
As  children  clasp  some  precious  toy  in  sleep, 
I  to  my  heart  the  simple  sentence  bind. 
Life  is  so  like  a  sleep  in  which  the  mind 
Wanders  on   restlessly  from  steep  to  steep, 
Through  dreary  canyons  wherein  waters  leap, 
Through  pleasant  valleys  wherein  rivers  wind  ; 
So  full  of  dream-shapes  beckoning  away, 
So  full  of  longings  past  the  will's  control. 
In  outward  life  of  active,  restive  day, 
Or  in  the  silent  night,  my  precious  scroll 
I  closely  bind  against  my  heart  and  pray 
To  be  content  to  love  thus  with  the  soul. 


XXXI. 

COLUMBUS  sailing  by  the  northern  star 
For  oriental  sea  and  unknown  world, 
His  banner  to  the  island  sand  unfurled, 
Nor  dreamed  a  mighty  continent  spread  afar. 
So  I,  when  drifting  through  the  darkling  night, 
Beheld  the  beacon  of  quiescent  eyes, 
Steered  by  their  light  and  found  my  Paradise 
Of  love  and  peace,  of  happiness  and  light, 
Dreamed  it  was  but  an  island  known  before, 
Small,  circumscribed,  yet  lovely.      Now  I  see 
It  was  a  mighty  continent,  for  me 
Illimitable,   whose   pre-visioned   shore, 
Bathed  by  the  ocean  of  eternity, 
Beckons  me  on  to  endless  life  with  thee. 


XXXII. 

ANOTHER  day  spent  far  from  thee,  dear  heart! 
I  used  to  count,  as  misers  do  their  gold, 
The  glinting  mornings  and  the  nights  that  hold 
Calm,  starry  wonder.      The  great  world  of  art, 
The  nature  world — bird-song  and  flowers  that  start 
Like  spirit  faces  from  the  field  and  wold — 
These  made  my  joy,  and  jealously  I  told 
Each  moment  off,  loath  with  my  wealth  to  part. 
Now  I  have  grown  a  spendthrift,  overbold 
And  lavish  of  my  days.      "Hasten,"  I  cry 
To  morning  and  to  night.      Oh,  let  me  be 
Beggared  of  days,  so  only  I  behold 
My  feet  approach  the  blessed  place  where  I 
Shall  find  my  rapture  and  my  rest  in  thee! 


72 


XXXIII. 

WHEN  thou"  shalt  come  and  stand  beside  my  bier 
And  look  on  her  who  loved  thee  to  the  last, 
What  wilt  thou  conjure  from  a  vanished  past 
To  counsel  thee,  to  comfort,  solace,  cheer? 
Canst  thou   remember  what  thou  gav'st  me,  dear, 
That  blest  me?      Hold  one   self-less  action  fast 
And  say,  "This  made  her  happy?"     Nay,  recast 
My  life  with  thee?  see  where  it  falls — a  tear! 
Yet  sorrow  not,  for  it  is  my  delight 
To  lavish  love  upon  thee  hour  by  hour; 
Thy  substance  is  too  niggard  to  requite 
Such  largess;   as  God  loves,  so  I  love  thee; 
He  proves  himself  in  light,  in  song,  in  flower, 
Giving — nor  ever  asking,  "Lov'st  thou   me?" 


73 


XXXIV. 

WHY  should  we  sorrow  at  inconstancy? 
Why  fret  because  love  may  unworthy  prove? 
Borne  on  an  ever-restless  tide  we  move, 
As  ships  upon   an  unpropitious  sea. 
Ours  not  to  will.      If  potent  destiny 
Threw  us  together  on  a  flowery  spot, 
A  quiet  island,  dearest,  blame  me  not 
If  I  drank  joy  as  sailors  drink  to  be 
Cured  of  a  fever — pent  in  ships  too  long. 
About  us  beats  life's  ocean,   evermore 
We  fare  upon  it,  spite  of  love  or  fear. 
Time  makes  no  shift  to  listen  to  love's  song. 
The  tide  ebbs  out,  why  linger  on  the  shore? 
Remember  only  this — I  loved  thee,  dear. 


74 


XXXV. 

* 

slow  and  silent  Power  that  hath  wrought 
-I-     From  star-mist,  dew,  and  fire,  the  circling  spheres, 
Conducting  us  across  quiescent  years, 
Unto  Itself  our  finite  lives  hath  brought. 
O  lonely,  silent  way  ere  I  was  caught 
Into  the  Presence;  from  repellent  fears 
Upborne;  made  to  forget  the  use  of  tears; 
A  new  heart-language  by  the   spirit  taught! 
How  many  ages  watched  that  brooding  Love 
Before  a  star  broke  from  night's  purple  sky! 
Souls  that  are  used  to  wonder  how  and  why — 
So  late,  so  long — turn  trusting  eyes  above 
And  watch  the  stars.     Beloved,  you  and  I 
Shall  live  and  love  when  these  have  ceased  to  move. 


XXXVI. 

MEN  toil  and  barter  for  the  ones  they  love, 
Wrench  the  dark  caverns  of  the  earth  for  ore, 
Tunnel  the  mountain,  drain  the  seas,  would  pour 
Old  ocean  from  its  hollow  to  remove 
Coral   and   pearls   and   buried  treasure-trove. 
They  herd   and  sow  and  reap,  heap  high  their  store; 
If  bought  by  blood  and  tears,  then  prized  the  more, 
As  deeper  and   more   passionate   pain  they  prove. 
I  have  no  power  nor  wish  to  gather  pelf 
In  proof  of  love.      In  the  gray  dawn  I  wake, 
To  lift  mine  ancient  burden  for  thy  sake; 
In  thought  of  others  seek  to  lose  myself. 
At  night  I  glean  my  visions,  hopes,  and  fears, 
And  lay  them  at  thy  feet; — forgive  the  tears. 


XXXVII. 

SILENCE  has -f alien  over  work  and  play; 
A   drowsy  languor,   like  the   noiseless  wing 
Of  the  brown  owl  in  woods  where  veeries  sing 
Throughout  the   pageant  of  the   summer  day, 
Descends  upon  me.      All  is  still  and  gray 
Where  I  am  lying,  as  a  child  at  rest 
In  clasping  arms  upon  a  mother's  breast, 
Waiting  for  thee  to  take  my  soul  away 
To  misty,  pathless  deserts  of  deep  sleep, 
Leaving  the  useless  waste  of  hours  behind, 
With  thee  a  holy  tryst  of  love  to  keep 
In  some  bright  star;  our  kindred  dream  to  find; 
Give  all  we  have  to  give,  each  unto  each, 
And  learn  together  all  love  hath  to  teach. 


77 


XXXVIII. 

THOU  art  to  me  a  solace,  a  release 
From  many  jarring  frictions  of  the  world. 
As  men  escape  from  devastation,  hurled 
From  hidden  guns,  to  find   a  transient  peace 
In  darkened  cellars  till  the  horrors  cease, 
So  I  draw  inward  from  life's  maddening  press, 
Its  clarion  note,  its  turmoil  and  distress, 
To  find  in  thoughts  of  thee  love's  dear  increase. 
Here,  in  this  inner  sanctum,  war  is  not; 
Through   silent  dusk   and  webby  shreds  of  dreams 
Shine  memories  of  consecrated  hours 
When  we  were  straying  by  beloved  streams, 
Among  autumnal  leaf  and  fading  flowers, 
In  halcyon  days  that  never  are  forgot. 


78 


XXXIX. 

FROM  dim,  unbrageous  forests,  blindly  trod, 
From  splendent  peaks   and  bosky  everglade; 
Abysmal  paths  where,  shrinking  and  afraid, 
My  steps  have  faltered  on  the  way  to  God ; 
Some  gem  or  rose,  the  gift  of  fire  or  clod, 
Some  withered  leaf  a  blighting  frost  hath  laid, 
Some  blithsome  song  or  vision  undismayed, 
My  soul  hath  garnered  from  the  sky  or  sod. 
Beloved,  on  thy  tolerant  heart  I  cast 
My  sheaves  of  good  and  evil,  joy  and  tears, 
To  mourn  no  more  an  unrequited  past, 
To  blame  no  more  the  sad,   mysterious  years 
That  taught  me  life,  that  led  me  by  the  hand 
To  thee,  that  I  might  love   and  understand. 


79 


XL. 


GRAY  cliffs  beneath  the  moonlight — gray  and  old 
As  the  torn  water  beating  on  the  stone 
For  unknown  ages,  rising  stark  and  lone 
Against  the  winter  landscape — you  behold 
Frail  human  lives  that  pass,  as  red  and  gold 
Autumnal  glory  for  an  hour  thrown 
Above  you — rose   and   harebell — beauty  blown 
To  dust  across  Time's  portal,  grim  and  cold. 
My  Love,  my  Love,  beneath  the  winter  moon 
Warm  are  your  hands,  tender  your  lips  and  eyes; 
Clasp  me  the  closer,  as  your  love  replies 
To  this  wild  heart  that  beats  its  summer  noon 
Against  your  breast,  for  this  is  love's  full  day; 
The  leaf,  the  rose,  the  harebell — where  are  they? 


--  r. 


XLI. 

0 

I  KNOW  not  neither  do  I  care  to  guess 
If  thou  art  beautiful,  if  others  see 
A  heaven  in  the  smile  that  dawns  for  me. 
I  care  no  more  what  language  shall  confess 
Thy  love;  for  if  in  silence  thou  shouldst  dress 
Thy  thought,  interpreter  I  still  should  be 
And  know  love's  meaning — know  the  melody 
That  with  a  broken  lute  thou  wouldst  express. 
There  is  a  loving  language  in  thine  eyes 
To  tell  the  coming  nearer  of  my  feet; 
Thy  blood  beats  faster;  I  am  over-wise 

With  ancient  lore  unutterably  sweet; 

I  wrote  this  once.      Now  thou  hast  gone  before. 
I  see  thy  face,  I  hear  thy  voice  no  more. 


81 


XLII. 

WE  used  to  linger  in  the  after-glow 
And  watch  the  cottage  windows  flash  and  gleam 
Across  the  water,  hand  in  hand  to  dream 
Of  winding  roads  where  sometime  we  would  go 
Climbing  to  find  a  house  that  we  should  know 
Our  own,  hidden   behind   some  flowery  tree, 
And  draw  the  latch,  be  happy  and  care-free, 
And  build  our  fire  and  tend  and  love  it  so! 
Bright  falls  the  sunset  over  hill  and  shore, 
Uprears  a  grave  so  very  far  away. 
I  dream,  I  watch,  alone  forevermore. 
Yet  as  I  dream  I  seem  to  hear  you  say, 
"I'll  seek  the  heavenly  roadways  till  you  come 
To  find  our  little  house,  then  call  you  home." 


XLIII. 

+• 

SOFT  autumn  winds  that  sway  the  goldenrod, 
Go  seek  for  him  upon  the  lonely  hill ; 
Look  for  him  in  the  glen ;  beside  the  rill ; 
The  grass  still  bends  where  his  light  footstep  trod. 
Gray  clouds  so  high  in  heaven,  dost  seek  his  face 
Afar,  mid  thronging  city-thoroughfare? 
Too  well  I  know  thou  canst  not  find  him  there. 
To  match  my  grief,  rain  down  thy  tears  through  space. 
Where  is  he  who  was  yesterday  mine  own? 
Where  does  he  hide  himself  on  land  or  sea? 
What  pain  restrains  him,  what  great  joys  beguile? 
I  know  he  would  not  tarry  long  from  me. 
Does  he  not  linow  I  am  bereft — alone? 
Does  he  not  know  I  weep  and  try  to  smile? 


83 


XLIV. 


from  the  water's  edge  the  great  cliffs  rise 
**-*  Jagged   and  broken,  holding  o'er  the  sands 
The  giant  hemlocks;   in  their  hollow  hands 
Autumnal  glory;   all  the  sweet  surprise 
Of  briers,  incarnadined,  and  starry  eyes 
Of  asters.      Vivid  in  October  sun, 

Down  their  scarred   sides  the  bleeding  woodbines   run, 
As  flows  the  life-stream  when  a  warrior  dies. 
I  watch  them  darken  as  the  sunsets  fade, 
I  dream  beside  them  as  we  dreamed  of  yore, 
O  my  beloved,  who  return'st  no  more 
To  limpid  lake,  to  glen  and  forest  glade! 
Across  my  life,  broken  and  gray  with  pain, 
Creep  memories  of  thee — Love's  crimson  stain. 


84 


XLV. 

0 

HOW  dear  the  gift  of  thy  quiescent  eyes — 
Twin  lakes  when  autumn's  brooding  heavens   are 
gray. 

The  fires  of  precious  stones  and  textiles  gay 
From  oriental  looms,  big  bales  of  price 
From  desert  caravans,  hold   less  surprise 
Than  what  my  life  discovers  day  by  day 
In  thine — laughter,  the  power  to  weep  and  pray, 
And  peaceful  sleep  beneath  the  star-lit  skies. 
I  was  so  sad  before  you  came  to  me ; 
Earth's  beauty  stung  me  like  a  lash.      The  dream 
Vanished  and  left  me  old.      A  new  ideal 
Now  springs  to  meet  me — onward  leads  the  gleam. 
Onward,  beloved!     Onward  to  the  real! 
Thou  hast  given  me  back  myself  in  love  of  thee. 


85 


XL  VI. 

THINE  arms  about  me  and  thy  breath  with  mine 
Mingled  in  kisses  deep ;  one  body  we, 
One   longing,  one  perfected   ecstasy 
Of  ravishing  joy.     By  every  seal   and  sign, 
By  every  thrilling  drop  of  passion's  wine, 
I  claim  thee  who  art  more  than  life  to  me. 
Come  to  me!     Come!     I  hold  all  time  as  fee 
To  that  one  instant  that  remakes  me  thine. 
It  is  so  still  and  lonely  and  the  snow 
Covers  so  many  graves!      We  are  apart, 
And  far,  faint  footfalls  of  the  years  move  slow 
Between  us.      All  my  vibrant  longings  grow 
To  ghostly  shapes.      Come,  wheresoe'er  thou   art, 
Come,  let  me  rest,  then  die  upon  thy  heart. 


86 


SAMSARA  SONNETS 


SAMSARA  SONNETS 

I. 

WHEN  I  was  flower  I  know  not — this  I  know, 
Among  my  sister  flowers  once  was  I. 
When  I  was  bird  I  care  not — yet  I  fly 
In  restlessness  before  the  threatened   snow, 
Sensing  a  winged  life  of  long  ago. 
Steeped  in  Nepenthe,  jocundly  I  lie 
Beneath  the  azure  or  the  starry  sky, 
And  hear  the  earthworms  creep,  the  grasses  grow. 
A  myriad  wild,  sweet  lives  our  lives  enfold ; 
Dim,  unremembered  raptures,  fear  and  wrong, 
Pulse  through  the  heart,  as  from  a  broken  string 
Sobs  out  some  snatch  of  old,  melodious  song; 
And  in  thine  eyes,  deep  searching,  I  behold 
Lost  loves  of  shell  and  flower,  claw  and  wing. 


S9 


II. 


IN  ancient  jungle  you  and  I  were  one; 
I  know  the  pendant  mosses;  shadows  deep 
Reaching  into  the  matted  grass  whence  creep 
Vague   recollections  of  a  blood-red  sun 
That  waked  us  when  our  night  of  joy  was  done. 
Your  eyes  that  bend  above  me  ever  keep 
Their  first  hot  hunger;  where  our  pulses  leap 
The  scorching  flame-breaths  of  the  jungle  run. 
I,  who  have  loved  you  by  long  right  of  these, 
Lie  in  your  arms  a-tremble  with  the  shame 
Of  primal  passion  only  you  can  ease. 
O  love  me,  love  me!  till  the  soul's  increase 
Lends  sanctity  to  that  primeval  flame, 
And  lure  of  thee  kindles  the  shrine  of  peace. 


III. 


THE  curtains  of  forgetfulness  uproll, 
Disclosing  eastern  courts  of  long  ago; 
Walled  gates  beneath  the  palms  where  fountains  flow, 
And  swarthy  slaves  present  a  brimming  bowl. 
Exultant  over  all,  a  woman's  soul 
Effused  in  song,  as  pulsing  to  and  fro 
Flash  bare  brown  feet,  with  ankle-rings  aglow, 
Before  the  king,  upglancing  from  a  scroll. 
Phantasm  of  a  pre-existent  day! 
Attenuated  sounds  from  world's  afar, 
The  city's  noises  into  silence  die. 
Recedes   the   present — here   the   far-away; 
We  own  no  past  but  were  as  now  we  are! 
Thou  gracious  king — the  singing  woman  I. 


IV. 


DID  Morpheus  lead  me  where  the  temples  rise 
Above  the  circus,   at  Apollo's  shrine? 
Dimly  I  sense  the  lamp,  the  wreathes,  the  wine; 
Faintly  I  hear  the  penetential  sighs. 
Ascending  from  the  circus,  hark!  the  cries 
Of  mortal  conflict,  and  I  read  the  sign 
Of  the  averted  thumb  and  answer,  "Mine 
The  life; — a  vestal."     Into  silence  dies 
The  frozen  throng  as  I,  in  virgin  white, 
With  hair  unbound  and  bare  of  arm  and  feet, 
Receive  thee  cringing,  trembling  as  a  child, 
Give  thee  to  life  and  freedom,  love  and  light, 
Pay  with  my  life  for  shrine  and  lamp  defiled, 
And  learn  that  sacrifice  for  love  is  sweet. 


92 


V. 


I  HALF  remember — lo !   the  fight  was  done, 
The  ranks  swept  down,  the  conquering  host  sped  by 
Triumphant,  with  acclaim  and  bugle-cry. 
Through  stench  of  carnage,  in  the  fading  sun, 
I  stoop  and  view  the  corpses,  one  by  one, 
Each  ghastly  form,  each  mangled   face  I  try. 
I  wipe  the  dampness  from  me  and  descry 
'Tis  blood  of  men — grim  price  of  conquest  won. 
Then  in  the  crimson  horror,  cries  of  woe 
And  madness  all  about  me,  thee  I  saw 
And  bore  upon  my  woman   shoulder — so 
Aeneas  bore  his  father  from  the  war. 
Then  silence  all  about  us,  and  afar 
Shining,  as  now  it  shines,  the  evening  star. 


93 


VI. 


AMID  the  greenness  of  the  English  yew 
Once  dawned  my  star.     Oh,  merrily  I  play 
Among  the  pleached  gardens,  day  by  day, 
Life  one  glad  song,  with  comrades  leal  and  true. 
Then  came  the  pageant  of  the  court,  to  view 
Our  village   festival.      I   ran    away 
And  followed  to  the  tourney.      Prancing  gay, 
Your  charger  came,  your  hand  the  falchion  drew. 
I  dashed  along  the  lists  and  called  aloud, 
"Wear  these  my  colors,"  threw  my  silken  glove 
Along  your  pommel.    O'er  the  bantering  crowd 
Rippled  a  sea  of  mirth.      Then  the  queen  bowed, 
Took  me  to  be  her  tiring-maid  and  wove 
About  my  life  its  web  of  woe  and  love. 


94 


VII. 


I  have  a  sense  of  fried  towers  that  lean, 
Archaic  sentinels,  where  some  great  sea 
Pleading  in  sibilant  insistency, 

Chants  of  old  wars  and  tempests  that  have  been. 
Across  the  moonlit  lawn  I  pass  between 
The  tall  box-hedge  and  ghost  of  ilex  tree, 
When  suddenly  I  come  on  her  and  thee— 
Thee,  my  beloved— her,  my  liege,  my  queen. 
Standing  tranfixed  with  horror,  I  thy  bride, 
Forget  my  honor  and  my  country's  pride. 
"Traitor,"  I  call,  "Traitor"  the  echoes  sigh. 
Then  comes  the  armed  guard,  the  clang,  the  cry, 
And  thy  swift  sword  that  makes  me  understand 
E'en  death  is  sweet  if  given  by  thy  hand. 


VIII. 

DRIFTING  in  flake-like  silence  comes  the  past; 
Phantoms  from  other  lives  that  cheat  the  brain; 
Fleeing  like  leaves  before   a  hurricane, 
Or  mirage  on  a  lurid  sunset  cast. 
Star-mist  from  interstellar  spaces  vast 
With  gloom ;   an  echo  from  forgotten  pain ; 
A   rainbow  bridge ;    a  glinting  cobweb  chain ; 
A  blazing  meteor  in  a  whirlpool  cast. 
Memory? — as  to  a  spoken  word   a  sigh; 
Vision? — as  to  the  sun  a  shooting  star; 
The  scent  of  roses  when  no  flower  is  nigh; 
Music  from  lips  that  have  been  dust  for  long — 
So  are  these  scenes  from  lives  remote  and  far, 
Yet  real,  as  life  is  real,  as  love  is  strong. 


96 


IX. 


WHEN  down  a  clull  brick  wall  the  sunbeams  flow, 
A  fatuous  rapture  fills  my  eager  soul, 
Vibrant  as  that  which  the  majestic  roll 
Of  ocean  brings  me,  or  the  trackless  snow, 
The  arch  of  rain,  the  morning  star,  or  glow 
Of  sunset.      Thus  the  spirit  asketh  toll 
Of  the  insentient;   rounds  a  perfect  whole 
From  smallest  arc,  by  vision  swift  to  know 
Her  bliss  fordoomed,  her  transports  ages  old. 
For  hers  are  curious  racial  memories  grown 
Visible  for  an  instant,  joys  once  ours 
When  we  were  one  with  trees  and  vines  and  flowers. 
The  sense  of  beauty  makes  the  spirit  bold 
To  know  what  was,  is,  and  shall  be  our  own. 


9'. 


X. 


WHEN  soul  and  sense  have  suffered  all  they  may, 
When  this  frail  form,  pulsating  'neath  its  load, 
Has  fallen   senseless,   prostrate   in  the   road 
Whereon  youth's  eager  feet  are  swift  to  stray ; 
When  I  have  wandered  from  the  beaten  way 
And  dumb  and  blind  with  anguish  sunken  down, 
A  ridicule,  a  jest,  for  fool  and  clown, 
Who  thought  me  flame  and  grinned  to  find  me  clay; 
When  I   am  broken  and  can  bear  no  more, 
What  wilt  thou  have  of  me,  Master  Divine? 
'Twas  thus  I  questioned,  and   a  passing  breath 
From  lands  remote,  from  alien  sea  and  shore, 
Whispered   of  other  worlds  of  palm   and   pine, 
Planets  in  pathless  spaces',  love,  and  death. 


MISCELLANEOUS  SONNETS 


DESTINY 

HIDDEN  where  lambent  morning's  crimson  dips 
To  calm  cerulean  sea ;  beyond  the  glow 
Of  sunset;  in  the  polar  ice  and  snow; 
Or  where  the  languorous  wave  of  ocean  lips 
The  coral  reef,  and  zephyr's  finger  tips 
The  honeyed  citrus  flowers  to  and  fro; 
That  which  is  thine  thy  presence  waits  to  know, 
Though  on  the  path  thereto  thy  weakness  slips. 
I  am  the  power  that  bespoke  the  dawn, 
Aeons  ago  called  forth  the  twilight  star, 
Whose  love  of  man  makes  love  in  man  divine. 
I  mark  thy  way.     From  sight  and  sound  withdrawn 
I  rule  the  universe.     No  lock  nor  bar 
Shall  keep  from  thee  that  which  I  count  as  thine. 


101 


PRAYER 

THE  gifts  of  God  are  mightier  than  our  due; 
Earth  yields  more  beauty  than  our  eyes  behold, 
More  service  than  our  slothful  hands  may  mould 
To  fitting  form;  love — and  we  are  untrue; 
Faith — we  are  doubters.     But  a  leaf  of  rue 
Or  drop  of  myrrh,  and  we  who  were  so  bold 
In  joy  sink  into  tears.     Ask  not — He  doth  withhold 
No  blessing  it  were  best  the  spirit  knew. 
When  thou  must  pray,  pray  thankfully  and  long, 
As  the  earth  prays  in  flowers,  as  the  sea 
Offers  its  tides,  the  bird  its  matin  song. 
And  for  thy  need  of  dower  from  above 
Pray  that  God's  spirit  may  descend  on  thee 
And  consecrate  thy  life  to  perfect  love. 


102 


THE   LETTER 

YOUR  letter  came.     I  took  it  where  we  stood 
One  supreme  moment,  loving,  unafraid, 
And  placed  it  gently  in  the  sun-flecked  shade, 
Where  the  majestic  hemlocks  lean  and  brood. 
Stealing  through  space,  as  fitful  as  your  mood, 
A  wandering,  light-foot,  wanton  breeze  essayed 
To  lift  the  pages — then,  as  if  gainsaid 
By  the  cold  words,  fled  sighing  through  the  wood. 
I  lit  a  flame  and  as  the  letter  blazed 
The  fair  moss  scorched  and  shriveled  in  my  view. 
Our  words  of  breath  are  like  the  wind  that  raised 
The  paper  and  let  fall   again — but  true 
As  searing  flame,  sharp  arrow,  flashing  sword, 
Falleth  upon  the  heart  the  written  word. 


103 


FOREVER   AND    FOREVER 

DUMBLY  on  Memnon's  lips  the  red  suns  rise; 
Olympia's  oracle,  her  games,  her  show, 
Are  dust  the  wanton  winds  of  summer  strow; 
The  shrines,  once  red  with  Druid  sacrifice, 
Now  herder's  pasture,  petty  chieftain's  prize, 
Are  green  with  grass  or  white  with  drifting  snow. 
Dodona's   murmurous   oaks   unheeded    grow; 
'Neath  shattered   stones  the   Delphic  sibyl   lies. 
Still  waits  the  race  beneath  a  shading  hand 
Some   revelation    from   Immensity, 
Utters  the  prayers  it  may  not  understand, 
Uprears  its  fanes  to  any  gods  that  be; 
And  sows  and   reaps  life's  narrow  strip  of  land 
Reaching  its  shining  length  from  sea  to  sea. 


104 


THE    CATHEDRAL 

WHY  seeks  the  soul  the  dim  cathedral  aisle, 
Where  vibrant  organ  beats  upon  the  shore, 
Of  silence,  where  sonorous  voices  soar 
Toward  the  Creator,  as  some  bird,  the  while 
It  sings,  rises  into  the  blue?     'Neath  smile 
Of  pictured  saint,  where  stained  windows  pour 
An  irised   flood   on  tesselated   floor, 
One  need  not  seek  God's  power  to  reconcile. 
From  lonely  chamber,  where  the  April  sun 
Enters  with  kindly  hint  of  flower  and  bird, 
My  spirit  floods  abroad  in  swift  surprise 
To  nature's  vast  cathedral,  where   at  one 
With  her  the  surging  song  of  life  is  heard, 
And  Christ  in  man  calleth  for  sacrifice. 


105 


SLEEP 

COME  hither,   kindly   shepherdess  of  dreams, 
Thy  wayward,  restless,  wandering  little  sheep, 
Astray  on  alien  bracken,  moor  and  steep, 
Sicken  for  native  heath  and  homey  streams. 
Thine  all-persuasive  eyes,  within  whose  beams 
Dear  memories  dwell,  are  passionless  and  deep, 
Pools  of  repose,  where  tranquil  shadows  creep 
And  active  life,  inverted,  sways  and  gleams. 
Conduct  to  somnolent  green  pastures,  where 
I  linger  with  the  loved  of  other  years, 
Beside  still  waters;  let  me  gather  there 
The  healing  herbs  that  ease  the  sting  of  tears; 
Touch  of  dear  hands  and  lips — the  smiling  eyes 
That  once  were  mine;  that  now  are  Paradise. 


106 


THE   POET 

WHO  would  become  the  poet  of  man  must  tread 
Life's  unillumined  silences  alone, 
Must  strike  the  living  spring  within  the  stone, 
And  beg  from  heart  to  heart  the  spirit's  bread. 
When  he  has  put  from  sight  his  dearest  dead, 
His  love  of  life  and  self-hood  overthrown; 
When  trembling  faith,  groping  the  vast  unknown, 
Returns   unreconciled,   uncomforted ; 
When  friends  depart,  yea,  when  his  own  love  fails 
And  leaves  him  desolate,  can  he  conceal 
His  penury,  his  joy  in  God  reveal, 
Trust  in  the  spirit  when  the  sense  assails; 
Then  let  him  sing  or  let  him  silent  keep, 
The  hearts  of  men  respond — deep  unto  deep. 


107 


LOST  DREAMS 

WHERE  are  the  palaces  we  trod?     Swift  gleam 
Of  opalescent  sea — war,  love,  or  prayer? 
The  kingdom  to  be  won?      The  pearl  to  wear? 
Enticing  music — viol,   harp,  or   stream? 
Often  amid  this  seething  world  I  seem 
Haunted  by  some  fine  rapture,  half  despair; 
I  clasp  it  as  it  vanishes  in  air — 
Phantasmal  vapor — echo  of  a  dream. 
As  to  the  far-off  city  of  delight 
We   take   the   spirit's   solitary  way, 
Bearing  life's  crown  of  thorns  or  wreath  of  flowers, 
Illusive  beauty  flashes  on  the  sight. 
O  eyes!  O  hands!  Elysium  for  a  day! 
O  high,  lost  dreams  that  never  may  be  ours! 


108 


THE  CLOUD 

BEHOLD  yon*  sun-emblazoned  cloud  unfurled 
Against  the  interminable  vastness  of  the  blue- 
Ethereal,  castellated   walls   we   knew 
In  happy  vision  when  youth  ruled  the  world. 
Updrifting  to  the  zenith,  light-empearled, 
It  sinks  in  tattered  glory,  winds  that  blew 
From  deep  to  deep  enticing  it  from  view — 
Illusive,  misty  masses,  starward  hurled. 
So  moves  the  soul  across  vague,  unknown  space 
From  vastness  unto  vastness,  dowered  with  light. 
The  sport  of  storm,  companioned  by  the  sun, 
Brought  into  being  in  some  far,  high  place, 
Gray  with  big  rain  of  tears:    so  brief,  so  bright! 
Vanished,  forgotten,  when  its  course   is   run. 


109 


THE  PRESENT 

I  WOULD  be  true  to  high  desires  that  lead 
My  soul  today.      As  evening  color  dies 
In  quivering  opalescence  from  the  skies, 
Old  faith,  old  standards,  antiquated  creed, 
Go  down  before  the  eager  present's  need ; 
New  lights  appear  as  holy  stars  arise; 
Vast  planets,  mightier  than  our  own,  surprise 
The  soul  that  from  its  watchtower  taketh  heed. 
What  matter  though  the  heart  forsakes  the  way 
The  past  appointed,  the  old  gods  lie  dead, 
'Mid  alters  sunken  in  the  dank  and  dew? 
Should  some  false  witch-fire  lead  the  steps  astray, 
Mocking  God's  lamps  of  glory  overhead, 
Unto  the  present  would  I  still  be  true. 


110 


IMPRISONED 

LOOSE  me,  persuasive,  haunting  breath  of  May, 
Loose  me  from  memory  and  let  me  go ; 
The  fruit  tree  petals  drift,  a  fragrant  snow; 
I  would  be  wanton  and  care-free   as  they — 
Free  from  regret,   released  from  yesterday. 
In  thy  florescence  of  delight,  bestow 
Primeval  rapture;  let  my  spirit  know 
The  full  fruition  of  each  vivid  day. 
We  are  the  past,  our  vital  root  is  set 
In  the  invisible  whose  pregnant  soil 
Enfolds  a  harvest  cankerous  regret 
Or  chilling  sorrow  may  delay  or  spoil. 
The  flowers  are  abloom,  the  birds  a-wing: 
Make  me  content  with  present  joy>  O  Spring! 


Ill 


THE  EMPTY  ROOM 

0  EMPTY,  silent  room,  vacant  as  space! 
Through  the  drawn  shades  gleam  little  threads  of 
light, 

Like  stars  that  may  not  enter  here  at  night; 
The  mirror  answers  no  beloved  face. 
Dear,  vanished  feet  have  left  no  hurried  trace 
On  the  smooth  floor.     The  pillows,  stark  and  white, 
Rise  up  like  tombstones  and  the  air  is  blight. 
Turn  the  compellent  key  and  leave  the  place. 
Descend,   O  spirit  of  the  vast  unknown! 
Thou  tenderness  that  is  the  brooding  dove, 
The  crooning  mother — mighty  powers  that  move 
Through  formless  voids  big  with  portentous  glooms, 
Brood  o'er  the  silence  whence  the  light  has  flown 
And  make  thy  presence  felt  ifi  vacuous  rooms. 


112 


WITHHOLDING 

FAIR  fruit  tree,"in  half-opened  blossoms  dressed, 
Why  shut  thy  beauty  in  its  green  retreat? 
Unfold  thy  petals,  make  our  joy  complete; 
Like  white  communicant,   all  unconfessed 
Waiting  beside  the   alter,   half-expressed 
Thy  purposes  of  bloom;   again  repeat 
Thine   age-old  miracle  of  life  and  cheat 
The  chilly  winds  that  have  thy  flowers  suppressed. 
Low  to  my  heart  the  answer  of  the  tree 
Breathes  forth:    "My  blossoms  wait  no  fuller  sun, 
No  warmer  air,  but  the  knight-errant  bee, 
My  pollen  grains  to  scatter,  one  by  one, 
From  flower  to  flower:    no  life,  however  sweet, 
Without  its  otherself  is  all-complete." 


113 


THE  DOWNY  OWL 

THE  downy  owl,  gray  banshee  of  the  night, 
Weaving  his  lilt  of  sorrow  to  and  fro 
In  the  dim  dawning,  ere  the  crimson  glow 
Leads  lusty  day  across  the  fields  of  light, 
Awakes  me  with  his  melancholy  rite, 
His  tremulous  adagio,  sweet  and  low, 
As  one  who  mourns  a  passion  old  as  woe, 
Or  would  too  late  a  wounded  love  requite. 
Hark  how  he  whimpers  in  the  brooding  gloom, 
Mocking  lost  joy — the  still,  forsaken  room, 
The  unpressed  pillow  where  no  dear  head  lies! 
Gray  banshee  owl,  prophet  of  morning  skies, 
Proclaim  the  light,  and  let  lost  rapture  be 
One  with  the  forest's  gloom  and  mystery. 


114 


IN   THE  DUNDEE   CEMETERY 

THE  maple's  Idvely  garments  disappear, 
Naked  and  virginal  the  branches  rise 
Above  a  lonely,  new-made  grave  where  lies 
A  cast-off  raiment  once  so  bright,  so  dear. 
Hold  me  a  little  closer,  draw  more  near 
And  take  my  hand  and  look  into  my  eyes. 
Should  the  grim  angel  take  us  by  surprise 
Before  we  meet  again,  we  will  not  fear. 
How  still  he  lies  whom  restlessness  and  care, 
Ambition,  fear,  hate,  love,  once  made  a  man! 
Changed  to  cool  mould,  to  illimitable  air, 
Incorporate  with  earth's  diurnal  plan. 
To  the  stripped  tree,  the  naked  soul,  belong 
Immortal  Springs  of  blossom,  love   and   song. 


115 


THE    UNFAMILIAR 

ACROSS  the  wind-swept,  open  country  ways, 
Immortal  Spring,  her  grass-green  robes  a-blow, 
Invites  the  flowers  to  rise,  the  streams  to  flow. 
Like  sunset  seen  through  intervening  haze, 
Sturdy  forsythea's  yellow,  fringed   sprays 
And  maples'  crimson  tops  gleam  through  the  snow. 
In  forests  where  I  wandered  long  ago 
Arbutus  stars  illume  the  bosky  ways. 
Yet  is  the  dear  familiar  strange  today. 
An  unknown  flora  greets  me,  for  I  bring 
New  light  to  see  by,  as  life  slips  away, 
Whereby  each  blade  of  grass,  each  opening  flower, 
Reveals  the  beauty  of  primeval  Spring. 


116 


OBLITERATION 

THE  snow  envelopes  the  insensate  land, 
Like  petals  shaken  from  emblossomed  tree ; 
Like  ships  that  tack  across  a  vaporous  sea, 
It  zig-zags  through  the  air  on  every  hand. 
Before  ice-fretted  windowpane  I  stand, 
The  willing  thrall  of  witching  memory, 
Again   sequestered   forest   aisles  with  thee 
Treading.      How  our  snow-laden  trees  must  stand 
Ghostly  and  stark — green  vistas  dimmed  away 
Under  the  whirling  whiteness.      Thus  it  seems 
Time  covers  every  vestige  of  today. 
The  blanched  tears  fall;  the  loving  dreamer  dreams; 
But  efflorescence  of  delight  must  know 
Obliterative  whiteness — like  the   snow. 


117 


GOD'S   CHILD 

PURE  love,  the  ages  have  thy  name  defiled 
Since  in  the  garden  Adam  was  betrayed ! 
Polluted  to  a  synonym  for  trade 
In  virtue ;  blackened,  bartered  and  reviled 
By  priest  and  monk;  imprisoned  and  exiled 
By  law  and  creed;  exchanged  for  title;  made 
The  slave  of  passion.      Ingenuous  maid, 
From  endless  time  earth's  one  immortal  child! 
Pure  vestal  of  the  lamp  that  burns  within 
Upon  the  altar  of  the  living  God ; 
Strong,  primal  cause  whereby  insensate  clod 
Starts  heavenward;  thou,  incapable  of  sin, 
Lend  me  thy  wings  and  with  me,  as  I  rise, 
Bear  up  all  those  I  love  toward  Paradise. 


118 


IGNATONG'S  MUMMY 

IMMORTAL  dust  that  once  was  Egypt's  king; 
Great  mummied  Pharaoh  wound  in  threads  of  gold 
Three  thousand  years  the  desert  sands  have  rolled 
Above  thy  grave,  three  thousand  years  the   Spring 
Has  heard  the  cuckoo  in  the  ilex  sing. 
Hark,  like  its  song  thy  living  faith  retold 
By  priest  and  poet,  in  song  and  saga  old, 
Across  the  ages  softly  echoing! 
Palace  and  tomb  and  temple  overthrown, 
Still  stand  thy  witness  to  the  living  God, 
Whose  name  thy  cunning  slaves  engraved  on  stone 
In   deathless  hymns.    Those  vandal  hordes  that  trod 
Thy   ravished   kingdom   have   for  long  been  blown 
Dust  of  the   desert — nameless   and   unknown. 


119 


NIGHT  IN  THE  CITY 

THINK  not  deep  silence  haunts  the  country's  way 
At  night.     There  crooning  sounds  invite  the  feet 
To  fields  and  forest  pathway,  flower-sweet. 
There  strums  the  lake  upon  its  shingle  gray; 
There  move  the  fingers  of  the  breeze  at  play 
On  piney  harpstrings;  there,  in  cool  retreat, 
A  little  brook  in  eager  haste  to  meet 
The  ocean,  sings  of  uplands,  flower-gay. 
In  haunts  of  man  is  silence  surest  found 
When  man  has  vanished.      Silence  like  a  shroud 
Wraps  the  great  city  nightly,  round  and  round. 
Withdraw  the  pulse-beat  of  its  fevered  crowd, 
A  sluggish  stream  its  myriad  arteries  flow — 
Grim  corpse  with  guarding  candles,  row  on  row. 


120 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  WORKSHOP 

DAY'S  brilliant  shuttle  casts  its  threads  afar 
Like  wind-whipped  banners  streaming  up  the  skies. 
As  tinsel,  woven  in  regal  tapestries, 
Shimmers  the  blessing  of  the  evening  star. 
Descending  shadows  weary  hands  debar 
From  labor.     Earth's  great  spindle  silent  lies. 
Intrusive  ghost,  with  deep,  unfathomed  eyes, 
From  haunts  where  buried  pain  and  passion  are, 
Hast  come  to  see  how  constantly  I  weave 
Thine  image  in  life's  fabric?      The  dear  dead 
Are  kinder.      Living,  breathing,  wherefore  tread 
Mine  ancient  workshop  that  I  may  not  leave, 
Where  faithful  at  life's  loom  from  day  to  day 
I  weave  love's  broken  thread  as  best  I  may? 


121 


THERE  IS  A  HAPPINESS 

THERE  is  a  happiness  that  dares  to  creep 
Past  smiles  and  laughter  to  the  inner  shrine, 
Where  dwell  the  hidden  gods,  those  powers  divine, 
Wizards  of  dreams  we  dream  and  tears  we  weep. 
Amid  dim  forest  ways  where  cataracts  leap 
Upon  the  heights,  beneath  the  murmurous  pine, 
Sight  of  a  flower,  or  sudden,  vivid  line 
Of  autumn  sunset — lo!     the   passions  sweep 
Past  joy  to  sorrow — rapture  stung  to  tears. 
My  memories  of  thee  are  bliss  so  keen 
The  heart  would  break  with  joy,  but  for  such  sting. 
I  weep  while  harking  back   across  the  years 
To  ecstasy  of  hours  that  have  been. 
So  weeps  Egeria — remembering. 


122 


DAY 

A  PALMER*  f rom  the  orient,  staff  in  hand, 
Offers  his  beggar-bowl  on  bended  knee, 
With  tales  of  enterprise  beguileth  me — 
Story  and  legend  of  a  better  land. 
He   speaks   a   language   many   understand, 
Illusive  promises  of  good  to  be, 
Entreateth  me  to  follow,  to  be  free, 
Yet  lays  upon  me  stripe  and  bar  and  band. 
O  palmer  from  the  east,  when  tales  are  told 
And  full  obeisance  made  and  prayer  complete, 
Don  thy  gray  cowl,  the  hour  is  growing  late; 
Accept  my  offering,  a  coin  of  gold 
Minted  within  my  heart;  on  reverent  feet 
Bear  it  to  God  beyond  the  sunset  gate. 


123 


DESERTED 

BENEATH  the  roof  where  love  abode  with  me, 
Through  empty  rooms  a  haunting  echo  falls; 
Upon  the  rat-infested,  crumbling  walls 
Hang  shreds  of  tattered,  worm-worn  tapestry. 
Scattered  the  ashes  of  the  fire  that  we 
Builded  together,  and  the  dark  swift  calls 
From  the  forsaken  chimney;   look,  how  sprawls 
The  spider  where  our  casement  opened  free. 
I  am  alone!     Why  do  I  stay  to  hear 
The  dreary  owl,  to  note  through  broken  glass 
The  falling  rain,  the  eddy  of  dead  leaves 
Round  this  abandoned  mansion  once  so  dear? 
God  give  me  strength  to  close  the  door  and  pass 
Beneath  the  grinning  gargoyles  on  the  eaves. 


124 


THE   COLOR   GRAY 

I  FIND  thee-ln  illusive  mists  that  sweep 
Their  Quaker  skirts  on  bright  autumnal  hill; 
In  rocky  glen  whose  melancholy  rill 
Slips  fretfully  adown  the  slaty  steep 
Of  the  great  fall,  to  lie  in  pools  asleep, 
Dreaming  of  upland  vales  remote  and  still ; 
In  twilight  spaces  that  the  calm  stars  fill ; 
In  crag-hung,  crescent  beach  where  billows  leap. 
Thine  are  the  lichens,  lovers  of  the  shade; 
And  thine  the  crooning  dove,  the  thrush's  breast, 
The  silent  wing  on  which  the  shy  owl  flies. 
All  colors  blend  to  form  thee,  subtly  made ; 
Of  every  hue  I  love  thy  quiet  best, 
Fabric  of  night  and  dreams  and  gentle  eyes. 


125 


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